


All for You

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Injury, M/M, some tender care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: After a surprise attack, Felix winds up hurt. Dimitri is hurt, too, but not quite in the same way.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: 2020 Dimilix Exchange





	All for You

**Author's Note:**

> For the Dimilix exchange! A combination of two prompts! 
> 
> One is: hurt and comfort; Injured Felix with Dimitri going wild with protective rage  
> AND: the two of them just being very tender and letting their guards down
> 
> I hope you like it!

Felix’s eyelids were heavy, his limbs even heavier. It felt like he was trying to move the world just by moving a finger. Attempting to think was like slugging through mud up to his thighs, each thought obscured by the fact that he had to actively tell himself to _breathe_. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been so unfocused—to be fair, he couldn’t recall much of anything.

But he could recall his duty. He could remember his responsibility. He could remember Dimitri.

He swallowed, trying to make himself think. It made his head throb, but he _had_ to. He could remember that they were walking through Fhirdiad; it was an irritating habit Dimitri had picked up as of late. Fhirdiad’s king wanted to see his people, wanted to know that he was helping them—damn the dangers and foolishness of it all. They had a minor conversation with a few guards around the market. And then . . .

And then he couldn’t remember. 

He winced, his head feeling like needles were jabbing into his skull. He could feel it in his lungs now, too—a burn that dragged with every breath, a fire simmering in his veins. It wasn’t just that his limbs were useless, either, they throbbed like they’d been covered in a thousand cuts, each one smothered in citrus.

A yell—no, a _roar_ —snapped his mind through the fog of pain.

Felix grunted, pressing a fist into the stone beneath him. He knew that sound, perhaps too well. It was the sound of a king burdened by ghosts, of a man who had lost everything and only had his life left to lose. It was the sound Felix still heard in his dreams sometimes, the sound he dreaded he might hear in the waking world.

His heart pounded in his chest, made it thrum in his ears. They’d come so far— _Dimitri_ had come so far. Felix refused to let him be lost now.

He shifted his other hand beneath him, pushing up. His shoulder hurt more than anything else, the pain like knives constantly being pressed and turned into the skin. It made him gasp as he move, made his breath catch in his throat and made his stomach churn.

But if he knew where the pain was, then he knew how to work around it. He shifted his weight, able to push past the pain as he brought himself to his feet. His legs were unsteady beneath him, but he could stand.

His eyes fell over the scene, slow to comprehend the scene around him. There were bodies strewn about, a strange combination of men in merchant attire, guard uniforms, and citizen garments. There was something that rang familiar in their pallid tone, unfocused eyes, and markings on their skin. He could vaguely tell that he needed to be alarmed, but could not remember why.

A knee buckled beneath him, and he shot an arm out to catch himself on the nearest wall. The stone felt like ice beneath feverish skin, even through his gloves. He could barely register the sensation in whole before burning agony radiated through his arm, forcing a small whine from his lips. The pain forced his breaths into labored pants—too much air and not nearly enough swirling through his lungs.

He glanced up, unsurprised to see more men felled at Dimitri’s feet. The man was practically a blur as he moved—no, he _was_ a blur. Felix only knew it was him by years of familiarity—by knowing the width of his shoulders, the shine of his hair, the flow of every strike.

His stomach lurched again, more insistent at making him sick. But it wasn’t the sight before him—no, this was tame by normal standards. It had to be something else. But he couldn’t figure out _what_.

He blinked, and more men were instantaneously dead at Dimitri’s feet.

Another blink, and there were no more enemies—only Dimitri standing before him.

Dimitri’s trembling hand reached out to him, and Felix wasn’t sure if he yearned for the man to touch or for him to stay away. It wasn’t like he could move to encourage either, anyway.

“Felix.” Dimitri breathed, his voice trembling but lacking the unhinged nature of the boar. “Please . . . don’t move. You need a healer.”

“I’m fine.” Felix gasped, voice pathetic to his own ears.

“Felix, this isn’t the time for—”

“Enough,” Felix grumbled, trying to force himself to stand upright, “I just need a breath and I—”

Straightening himself seemed to be the last straw. Almost immediately, he tumbled forward, only noticing the sensation of his cheek brushing cool metal before darkness claimed him entirely.

When sensation finally returned, the first thing Felix noticed—aside from the fact that he obviously wasn’t in the street anymore and was in bed—was that everything hurt. It wasn’t the same pain as before, that quickly being lost in memory, but it still ached all the same. Even breathing left a soreness to his chest, like he’d been training for three days without rest.

A part of him wanted to just sleep until the ache went away. It was inefficient, but even without moving he could tell that he wouldn’t stand much of a chance getting out of bed, let alone handle his daily tasks. That was, if he even _was_ in Fhirdiad castle.

A shaky breath drew his attention, shattering any thoughts of returning to sleep.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. He had to blink to focus—the light was far brighter than he had expected, and his vision blurred immediately in response. It made the back of his head ache once more, a headache already threatening.

But it seemed null compared to the sight before him. Dimitri sat in a chair at his bedside, eyes focused on his hands in his lap. The blue of his eye was so dark from his downcast gaze, worsened by the bag beneath his eye being so dark that it nearly seemed bruised. His hair was mussed, oily as if it hadn’t been tended to for at least a couple days, and ragged like it had been when they had found him so long ago. Most notably, he appeared deathly pale, as if he wasn’t far from being one of the ghosts that used to haunt him.

It appeared Dimitri’s lack of sleep had overwhelmingly matched the amount Felix overslept—and not to his benefit.

Felix swallowed; his throat was still sore, but it was nothing compared to his irritation at the others letting Dimitri get into this state. “You have more important things to do than watch me sleep.”

Dimitri visibly startled, nearly jumping from his seat. His eye fell onto Felix all too quickly, already shimmering with the threat of tears. “You’re awake.” He breathed.

Felix snorted. “Obviously.”

One of Dimitri’s hands reached out, but paused just before it landed on Felix’s sheet. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s nothing.” Felix said on instinct, shifting to sit up.

He quickly realized that was a mistake. His arm throbbed, the agony no different than back in Fhirdiad’s streets. Felix gasped, a whimper dying in the back of his throat. He tried to shift to accommodate it, but that only made the pain shift to the rest of his body. To move was to condemn himself, and remaining made it no better. Panic stuck in his throat.

But Dimitri’s hands were on him quickly, sliding between his shoulders and his lower back. They shifted him down with a practiced care, easing him back into bed. But they didn’t stop there. They adjusted his pillow so it didn’t press against his shoulders, moved his sheet so it avoided sensitive skin. Dimitri acted in silence, as if his hands were acting on their own. Not that the focused look on his face would allow that impression for long.

“Enough” Felix hissed, swatting at Dimitri’s hand as it shifted to move his hair from his face. It hurt, but it was worth it. “Stop this fussing.”

Dimitri looked at him, swallowing. There was something serious to his expression that Felix wasn’t keen on deciphering. “I believe I am at least a little entitled to it.” Slowly, he brushed Felix’s long bangs behind his ear.

Felix snorted.

“Felix,” Dimitri exhaled softly, “you almost died for me.”

“Don’t be so dramatic—”

“You took a blade for me.” Dimitri muttered, his hands resting at the edge of Felix’s bed, fingers curling hard into the sheets. “A _poisoned_ blade. Had I brought you back any later—” Dimitri’s voice cracked on the last word, his lips pressing into a firm line to keep his emotions in check.

Ah, that was what happened. He couldn’t remember it in full—the pain had tarnished most of his memories, shattering them into disjointed fragments. But he could still see those fragments.

A man shoving through the market. Felix pushing Dimitri out of the way. A knife through his armor to the shoulder. Felix’s blade slicing through flesh and bone. Others coming, clearly not allies. The world spinning. Then his king, ripping apart their attackers.

Felix glanced at his shoulder. The bandages were thick there, clearly replaced recently. It still throbbed, even with no pressure on it. The poison must have been potent if he’d been out for at least two days (judging by Dimitri’s condition) and it still hadn’t worked out of his system. Even more so if any medicine added to dull the pain did very little to help. 

Felix sighed. “If you’re trying to say I shouldn’t have—”

“I would never have forgiven myself if you’d died.”

Felix froze, staring at his king. Dimitri looked miserable, more so as his mind clearly worked over the possibilities. Felix knew the man, perhaps too well. He knew he’d have turned the thoughts over and over a thousand times before the day was even over. If the knife had been closer to Felix’s chest, or if the poison had been stronger, or if he’d been any later to take Felix to a healer.

A part of him wanted to be annoyed. Such situations were inherent in the very nature of their relationship—the king was to rule wisely, and the Fraldarius Duke was to protect the king with his life. The Duke’s blood would always spill before the king’s, unless he did his job properly.

Besides that . . . Felix had failed to protect his friend in their youth—and he was determined to make up for that now, even if perhaps a little too desperately.

But he could also understand Dimitri’s side. The man never had a high opinion of himself, and even as a king he could hardly imagine himself worthwhile enough for others to die for him.

Perhaps even less so with Felix. Felix’s loathing of the boar in his youth hadn’t been secret, so back then it was unthinkable for Felix to willingly die for Dimitri. Felix was fairly certain he _wouldn’t_ have back then.

But it was different now. Even Felix could acknowledge there was undoubtedly something worse to lose the man who held Dimitri when his nightmares were the worst, who soothed him through the tribulations of his episodes, who knew the right combination of a hand carding through his hair and gentle words whispered in his ear. The cold spot in the sheets next to Dimitri would bear on him heavier than the gravestones he used to carry around his neck.

Dimitri reached out, his hand resting on Felix’s. It was a gentle touch—a softness that Felix had increasingly become accustomed to—emphasized only by the slow brush of a thumb over his knuckles.

“I know you meant to protect me,” Dimitri’s fingers wrapped around Felix’s, bringing it up to his lips. “I thought you might be okay, when you stood. But then . . . then you . . .” his eye slowly ran over Felix’s face, watering with tears, “you were shivering. You were barely breathing. I thought . . . I thought you were going to die—I—”

“I didn’t.” Felix protested. “I’m fine.”

But Dimitri didn’t hear him. “I . . . I couldn’t help but wonder if that was the last moment I would ever have you in my arms.” He inhaled sharply, his breath shaky against Felix’s skin. “And . . . that the last time we had talked would be an argument—”

“That was hardly an argument.” Felix muttered. It was just Felix berating Dimitri as he always did; good intentions hid behind sharp words. He was angry that Dimitri hadn’t been taking his safety seriously—he was afraid that Dimitri would get hurt in his negligence. Dimitri hadn’t even fought it then—merely considered it like he considered everything else Felix said: with too much sincerity and seriousness, and not nearly enough thought to his own self-preservation.

But the thought that an argument was what he’d be remembered by . . . it made his chest ache.

Felix exhaled slowly. Regardless of how he felt, there was one very clear truth. One they had to remember—one _Dimitri_ had to remember. “It’s my duty to die before you do.”

Dimitri’s lip quirked, but it was bitter more than anything else. “I wasn’t aware you started to care about your duty.”

Felix glared, before remembering himself and the moment. Slowly, he laced his fingers with Dimitri’s. “I know you don’t think you deserve it,” he said, staring at their hands because he couldn’t bear to look Dimitri in the eye, “but I would die for you in a heartbeat, if I knew it would save you.”

He had never been keen on the thought of dying for duty. But there was something different in protecting Dimitri—in being willing to sacrifice everything for him. He believed in what Dimitri was doing for their homeland, helping it recover from the devastation of the Dukedom. He believed in the good Dimitri wanted to bring to the _world_ after it had been torn apart by the war. And he believed in Dimitri more than anything else—in the great man he had become, one who Felix loved more than he could ever wholly express.

That, however, seemed to bring no peace to Dimitri. The man’s fingers tightened around Felix’s. “I don’t want—”

“I’m not planning on dying any time soon.” Felix huffed, perhaps more petulantly than he expected. “It will take far more than poison to manage that. I don’t have the same faith in you.”

Dimitri’s lip quirked, if only slightly. “Should I be insulted?” His voice lacked the levity of their casual conversations, but there was at least the faintest trace there.

“Think what you want.” Felix sighed. He squeezed Dimitri’s hand slightly. “Just know I will kill you if you die before me, after all this.”

Dimitri sighed, his shoulders easing and a smile finally gracing his expression. It did nothing for his exhaustion, but at least it broke through his misery. “I am aware.”

Felix sighed; he didn’t exactly believe Dimitri understood completely, but he’d have to be satisfied for the moment. It at least let him settle more against his pillows, relax in the peace of the room. He’d have to enjoy it for now—since it was clear he wasn’t getting much of a choice.

“Come here.” He said, pulling his hand from Dimitri’s.

Dimitri leaned forward on instinct, his weight pressing into the bed. It shifted, though it was a credit to Dimitri’s care that the shift wasn’t painful. Dimitri’s eye was open wide in his curiosity, though it was clear any questions died on his lips. Perhaps he didn’t want another fight—which was fair, really.

So Felix said nothing, at least at first. He brought his hand up to cup Dimitri’s cheek, letting his thumb brush over his cheekbone. It was good to feel the warm skin there, to feel Dimitri’s breath against his wrist. He smiled as Dimitri leaned into the touch.

But Felix was never really good with unspoken things between them. “How long were you loitering here?”

Even though there was no accusation in Felix’s tone, Dimitri still grimaced. It was at least some comfort that he didn’t pull away. “Since I brought you from town.”

Felix’s lips immediately turned to a scowl, admonishment on his tongue. But he bit down on it; it was not the time nor the place, and already Dimitri had mentally flagellated himself more than enough. He inhaled, then exhaled. “I find it hard to believe the healers let you stay the whole time.”

Dimitri’s lips curved into a wry smile. “There are some advantages to being a king.”

“You’re impossible.” Felix huffed a fond laugh, shaking his head.

He could imagine it, though, almost too easily. He could imagine Dimitri running in from town, a nearly-dead duke in his arms. Panic would have made him forego all sense of decorum and formality as he begged for healers to help. He would have followed them to a room like a lost child, hovering about as they did their work. Of course, all innocent qualities would shatter completely the moment they asked him to leave, his obstinance shaping a tempest onto his expression. If the healers had any sense of his reputation—as Felix was certain they did—they would rather deal with a pest than a furious king.

And, since then, Felix doubted very much that he moved from this spot. Even if the other advisors had come to convince him to eat, or rest, or work, all it would take was that severe expression once more and they would cower. Felix was one of the very few who would have been able to convince him, and he was unconscious.

And, as much as he enjoyed this soft peace between them, Felix couldn’t willfully ignore Dimitri’s health. “Have you slept?”

Dimitri nuzzled against Felix’s hand, lashes brushing against Felix’s fingertip as he kissed at his wrist. “Some. But you cannot expect me to have rested when I did not know if you would wake.”

Well, at least he was being honest. Felix sighed, his fingertips sliding up to brush Dimitri’s hair from his face. “I can expect you to _now_.”

Dimitri froze, expression shifting from content to incredibly sad. Slowly, he pulled away—as if every inch from Felix tore years from his life.

“What are you doing?” Felix huffed.

Dimitri glanced away. “You’re right. You’re awake, and if I want you to heal well, I know you needn’t worry about me. So I will not fight you on this.”

“No.” Felix scowled. “Why are you _leaving_?”

Dimitri blinked. “You said—”

“There is a perfectly good bed here, Your Majesty.”

Dimitri blinked, the movement slow as his mind worked.

“I said you needed to rest. I didn’t say you needed to leave. Come here.”

Dimitri obeyed perhaps too eagerly. He didn’t even ask for clarification; already he shrugged his cape from his shoulders and kicked off his boots. With a care that Felix was exceedingly grateful for, he slid into the bed beside him.

In any other situation, Felix would be ashamed at how quickly he pressed against Dimitri’s side, resting his head in the nook beneath Dimitri’s shoulder. Here, he could hear the strength of his heartbeat, the rise of his chest as he breathed. It was a wonderful lullaby, a song that eased Felix in a way no other could. The warmth was a comfort his blankets could never emulate. Finally he could acknowledge how tired he was, and how peaceful it was to know his king was still safe beside him.

Dimitri’s cheek pressed against Felix’s hair, nuzzling softly. “As long as you are by my side, I can rest easy.” He whispered. Felix didn’t miss the kiss he pressed to his hair.

Felix laced their fingers together, eyelids heavy. “I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
